


Helping hand

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, i'm so so sorry this is so angsty, not rlly but lmao, vent fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5219699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The voices wouldn't stop.<br/>Patrick couldn't stop.<br/>Unless...his best friend could help him, but who knows now.<br/>He's fucked up too many times to get help, or so that's what the voices told him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow okay, so to start off. If you're triggered by self harm please don't read this!  
> And, please don't ever start hurting yourself, I've been dealing with it for years and I still somewhat struggle with it today.  
> if you need to talk to someone, I'm here.  
> This is a fic I randomly wrote in my communication technology class since my mental health hasn't been the greatest and I needed to let it out in more of a safe way.  
> Twitter for fic updates: https://twitter.com/PensOverKnives

Patrick slashed his hips which caused scars from the previous week that had yet to heal open once more. 

His blood trickled down his legs and he flinched because he realized how much it had stung.

But despite that the voices didn't stop. They kept telling him to cut deeper and deeper.

“Cut deeper,” they whispered. “Don't let the pain stop you.”

The blond hated the voice, but he always listened to it. Because if he didn't then the voice would punish him, and he didn't like that.

He stared down at the razor. Looks like he had fucked up another day.

Of fucking course he fucked up the lyrics to immortals, for what? The 5th time already?

It wouldn't hurt so much if the voice hadn't always told him how stupid and worthless he was for doing so. He hated that. 

But here he was, in the hotel bathroom hurting himself like usual.

A small drop of blood fell to the tile floor and Patrick frowned. 

He would clean that up later.

“NOW!” The voice screamed. “You deserve it.”

Patrick did was he was told and drew another red line across his hip. It was deeper than the other ones.. but fuck it felt so good.

For about 10 seconds, until he realized that a small pool of blood was forming under his feet and the pain was beginning to worsen. 

He gripped the edge of the bathroom sink tightly. So tight his knuckles started to turn white.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he repeated under his breath. He shut his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth.

“Just one more,” The voice hissed “you're doing fine Patrick.”

But Patrick didn't want to. 

The blond let go of the counter and stumbled backwards a little. He winced in pain and dropped the razor into the small pool of blood.

Was this really going to be his life? Self harming until he died of blood loss?

Well... that's what the voice wanted... so that meant Patrick had wanted it, even though a small part of him screamed no. 

Silenced filled the singer's ears. He hadn't noticed it only because the voice was constantly there.

Patrick gripped the sink again to steady himself. He was a little dizzy from the blood loss.

He bent down to pick up the razor to clean it off. When he stood up he turned the tap on and held his breath.

The blond really hoped that the guys weren't going to come into the hotel room anytime soon.

Patrick watched the water wash over the razor and his hands. He had turned only the heat on and it was blisteringly hot. Despite that he didn't stop. 

He was careful as he washed the razor. He didn't want to cut himself by accident, which was kind of ironic seeing as he did it purposely.

When he was done, he threw it into the toilet. 

'Goodbye weapon of self destruction' he thought as he flushed it down the toilet. He could get more anyways, it's not like they were expensive.

When that was done he proceeded to clean his wounds. 

As he cleaned he swore under his breath and winced a lot. It really hurt using the rubbing alcohol on his cuts, but he didn't want them to get infected.

But after it was cleaned he slapped some bandages on and he left it. Though he had a feeling he might need to get stitches again. 

Patrick pulled his pants up, but it still hurt like hell. He reached over to the side of the sink and grabbed a cloth. 

The blond soaked it with the hot, hot water and then turned the tap off.

He bent down and proceeded to clean the blood off the floor and his feet. 

Afterwords he cleaned the cloth. 

The water turning pink as it cleaned the blood out of the cloth. 

It took him a few minutes but at least there wouldn't be any evidence. Nobody could know what he was doing.

When he was done he pressed his back against the door and slid down until his bum was touching the floor. His legs completely spread out and not bent at all otherwise it would cause him pain.

“They'll never know,” The voice said.

“I know...,” He whispered.

“Don't let them know. Don't let them know because you're worthless,” the voice told him “and if they found out they would certainly leave you. Then what reason would you have to live?”

Patrick swallowed thickly. 

“But then again.. you don't have much of a reason to live anyways. Why don't you just die already?”

Those last worse frightened Patrick.

“The band doesn't need you. Not even Pete. He can live on his own,” the voice stated.

Patrick shut his blue-green eyes.

“He despises you,” it spat. “He hates you, just like everyone else.”

“You aren't anything special. Actually, you're just a burden. Nobody wants you around,” the voice said.

“...stop...,” Patrick whimpered to himself and hit his head off the door, but just lightly.

“'Trick?” He heard somebody say. It was Pete. Patrick could recognize that voice anywhere- even if it was muffled because of the door.

“Are you okay in there?” Pete questioned with concern. 

His blue-green eyes shot open. Patrick hadn't realized.. but Pete had been there the whole. damn. Time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, here's the new chapter.   
> Edit: It's been updated with edits by Kittys_yay

Patrick felt like everything was in slow motion.

His heart pounding in his chest but it felt like it had dropped to his feet. His mind filled with shock, dread and disbelief.

Pete was there, on the other side of the door and he sounded very concerned.

“SEE WHAT YOU DID!?” The voices screamed in his head. “You should just end it all now. Save them the trouble of having to deal with your sorry ass. After all you can't do anything right. You're not good enough and you NEVER WILL BE.”

Patrick shut his eyes tightly and tried to ignore the voices.

He opened them and let out a breath.

He cleared his throat and spoke loud enough that his words sounded like a mumble to Pete, “yeah I'm fine, Pete, just... washing up.”

He felt worried welled up inside his stomach. 'Please believe me' he thought. He desperately hoped he sounded convincing.

There was a moments pause before Pete replied.

“Alright then. I'll see you in the lobby... yeah?” He said. His voice wavered a little, like he was about to cry.

Before Patrick could even process it he heard Pete's fading footsteps as he walked away. He heard the door open and then click shut.

And then there was only quiet.

In that moment he really wanted to die. He had hoped his best friend wouldn't inquire about what he was doing because he really didn't need that.

He didn't want to be a bother. Besides Pete would try and stop him from getting what he deserves.

Right now though, he really needed to cut himself. But since he threw out his last razor he couldn't.

That. Fucking. Sucked.

Patrick Sighed shakily and shook his head. He placed a hand on his forehead. That was close.

He stood there for a moment or two before slowly leaving the bathroom. He waited in his room a moment to recollect himself before going to meet with Pete.

The blond was thankful that the voices had quieted down a little now that Pete was gone. They were still telling him to do horrible horrible things though.

Patrick walked over to his suitcase and opened it. He decided to wear something else in case he decided he was going to cut his arms later. If he decided and that was a huge if.

He decided on a red cardigan and a white dress shirt to go underneath. Even though the blood could stain the dress shirt, he knew he could just get it out when he had the time.

“It's good enough,” he muttered and took off his own sweat stained shirt from the show. He thought it was utterly repulsive.

Then, his eyes travelled down to stare down at himself. He grabbed at his chub. He hated it so much, it repulsed him. It was disgusting and it was even more disgusting that it was full of scars.

Once he got changed, he slipped on his leather jacket and left the room as if nothing had happened a few minutes ago. He head towards the lounge area where his friends were patiently waiting for him.

Pete perked up when his eyes spotted Patrick walking in.

He grinned and waved to Patrick and said “hey 'Trick!” He hide his concern for the other quite well.

“Hey,” Patrick replied and walked over and sat down beside Pete. His cuts stung a lot but he had to stay strong.

“So...,” Pete started. “You sure you're okay? You.. seem a little clammy.” His voice was as soft as honey.

Patrick nodded and quickly mumbled, “yeah, I'm fine, okay?”

Pete stared into his eyes as Patrick said, “trust me. If I wasn't you'd be the first to know.”

Patrick even added a little smile and looked around. He noticed how quiet it was and how nobody else was there.

“They're packing their things on the bus,” Pete told Patrick as if he had been reading the singers mind.

“Oh, that makes sense,” Patrick replied. It seemed like he was beginning to lose his sense of time.

“Where are we going again?” The blond inquired.

Pete looked at Patrick and gawked. “Are you for real, Patrick!?” He exclaimed like it was a big deal. “We're going to Chicago! How could you forget that!?”

Patrick blinked and recalled it now.

“Oh... yeah, right,” He stated. He paused then continued, “Sorry. My memory hasn't been the greatest because of the tour.”

He remembered now. The band was going to stay at the hotel for the night, and then early in the morning they were going to drive off to Chicago.

Right...

Patrick's stomach suddenly growled and he remembered he hadn't had either lunch or dinner yet.

It wasn't like he deserved it anyways.

“Wanna grab Andy and Joe and go get a bit to eat or something?” Pete asked and snapped him back to reality.

“Uhh.. sure,” He said and stood up. He ignored the pain ripping through him. “I'll go get them.”

He really didn't want to eat. He had been struggling with body image issues for years and it seemed to get worse. Well... obviously since he was such a damn mess.

Patrick walked out of the hotel and felt the cool spring breeze brush over his skin. He could feel his hair stick up.

The singer headed to the bus which wasn't too far away.

The voices in his head kept telling him how the band would be so much better without him. The band could be more popular and it would sound so much better.

It's funny how suicidal he was. Basically every waking moment he was suicidal. Though he never spoke a word and kept a smile on. Even though it was a fake smile and nobody ever saw through it.

Patrick has never been happy, never ever. He had only been putting on a show for everyone until he was gone. The only reason why he was still alive was because of Pete. Even though he knew Pete was better off without him.

\- Helping Hand -

Patrick felt uncomfortable as he sat in the booth. He just wanted to hide up in the hotel and sleep for a day... or a year or heck forever would be better than even this.

He had ordered a salad, while the rest had ordered something more... fattening. With more calories than Patrick could ever handle. Except for Andy of course, he had ordered a vegan meal.

The group was talking about random things and laughing. Once in a while Patrick would add in a comment or two, but he wasn't really interested in what they were talking about. He was more interested in how much he hated himself.

But Patrick had to eat. Otherwise the guys would get worried and they couldn't know. They couldn't ever know. He had to hide it.

“You okay?” Pete asked, he noticed how Patrick was mostly playing with his food, not really eating it like he normally would.

The singer sat up straight and it felt like all eyes were on him. He started to feel a little nervous and a little scared.

“I'm fine, just not really hungry that's all,” He said and shrugged his shoulders after he spoke.

Pete just nodded and continued to eat while Patrick took a few more bites before pushing the bowl away from him.

He smiled a little at his band mates and acted like his hip totally wasn't killing him and start to bleed through the bandages.

Even though Patrick hadn't noticed. But he would.

Joe and Andy gave him some concerned looks. They didn't know exactly what was going on but they knew it wasn't anything good.

The blond stood up and took some money out of his pocket. He set it on the table then spoke, “Here, I'm not feeling the greatest so this is to pay for my dinner. I'll be in the hotel.”

The three of them just nodded and the usual 'hope you'll feel better' and all that bullshit.

Once Patrick left, he just knew they were talking about him behind his back. That's how everything worked after all.

“They're talking about how fat and disgusting you are. How much of a horrible person you are and how you make them sick, y'know?” The voices started up again.

“Go cut yourself later, you deserve it. You deserve to suffer and bleed.”

Patrick shut his eyes for a quick moment and said, “Fucking worthless.” He opened them at the end of the end of the sentence.

“Your 'friends' aren't even your real friends, we are,” They whispered. “We've always been your friend and we always will be. We're the only ones you can trust.”

Patrick just rubbed his temples as he walked back to the hotel. He was thankful that the voices weren't screaming like they normally were. It was a relief to the blond.

The place that they had chosen to eat at had only been 10 minutes away even though Patrick was limping a little due to the pain.

He wished he could have some silence for at least a minute, that was really all he wanted. Well... except for dying of course. But that comes later. Yet Patrick knew he was never going to get the silence he wanted because he was never going to get better.

It was just the simple truth that Patrick was only getting worse and worse. There was no hope for him. There was only death.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick goes back to hotel for a good time but of course it's interrupted. But by whom and why??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, welcome to hell fuckers :^)  
> I'm back (finally) with a long asf chapter, after months of not writing.   
> If you didn't read the last drabble I wrote then well,, I've been having worse mental health issues lately and It's been affecting me negatively   
> But I am trying to write more and I hope you all understand and like this chapter  
> Edited by Kittys_yay

As Patrick neared the hotel, he paused and he thought of an amazing idea.

He thought, that he could take a very short detour. He could go and get some more blades.

The band would never notice since they were stuffing their faces and Patrick knew they wouldn’t get back for a while. Not unless one of them decided to check up on him. That was unlikely though. It wouldn’t be worth it.

“He wouldn’t be worth it,” the voices snickered in his head.

After all, Patrick knew he wasn’t worth shit. So he went on the detour to the store and bought new blades. New, shiny and sharp blades.

He couldn’t wait to try them out and he could barely contain his excitement. He was going to have a good time with the new blades.

The throbbing pain in his thigh got worse but Patrick wasn’t terribly concerned about it right now.

Patrick would check on it back in the hotel room, alone and undisturbed.

He had dealt with pain. He always had. Whether it be his wrists, hips or legs in pain, Patrick could handle it.

He would normally shrug it off because that wasn’t the hardest part of his life. Not even close to the suicidal thoughts and voices plaguing his mind through the years.

Suffice to say, Patrick stump could handle a little bit of pain.

~ Helping hand ~

Patrick stared at the newly purchased blades in total bliss.

They shinned silver in the lighting and he knew that the blade would be super duper sharp.

He was actually... giddy about them. Only because he was excited to see just how much damage they'd do to him. How much they'd do if he cut up his fatty skin.

They almost looked too sharp to touch. That's how smooth they were.

He had time to cut some more, or at least that's what the voices told him. They usually weren't wrong.

But before he could get to the fun part, he had something else he needed to do first. He needed to check on the wound from before. After all he couldn't really afford for it to get infected.

The blond got up off the plush bed and walked over to the front door, locking it just in case someone were to walk in. He did not want anyone to see his destructive ways.

Then he headed towards the bathroom and flicked the light switch on, watching as the lights turned on. That way he'd be able to see what he was dealing with.

He slowly pulled down his pants and what he saw made him gag slightly.

The blood had completely soaked through the bandages he had put on earlier. They were fucking drenched and he could feel the warm, sticky blood on his skin. The bandage stuck to him like a shirt sticks to your skin when you get it wet.

Oh no.

No no no! Now was not the time to panic, but even still, Patrick could feel it bubbling up in his chest and it threatened to spill over.

He could fix this he told himself. He's done it a billion times before, it's not like a little blood can do damage. But he must have hit something without realizing it! Maybe even... bone...

No. No it couldn't be. He was too fat for that. Fatty Patrick could never hit a bone no matter how hard he would try.

He was going to be fine. Everything was going to be fine.

The voices whispered harshly in his ears as he ripped off the bandage and saw the aftermath.

There was blood gushing out and pouring down his leg, it pooled onto the tiled floor. He hadn't realized how bad it was until now, which made Patrick frantically grab at the toilet paper and shoved it on the cut. The toilet paper soaked it up and before Patrick knew it, it was completely soaked.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK,” Patrick muttered under his breath repeatedly as he threw the blood soaked toilet paper into the toilet. Hurriedly he finished cleaning himself up then started to clean up the blood on the tiles.

He knew it might stain the tiles a little but no one would notice, right?

Of course nobody would notice. It wasn't a big deal, it didn't matter. Nobody would care.

Everything was going to be fine, and yet, Patrick found all the blood around him had started to make his stomach churn. He felt nauseous and nearly threw up, but he didn't.

But if he did throw up, he'd have deserved it.

He threw open the cabinet door and searched under the sink for more bandages for his wound. Then he pressed a handful on the cut to keep pressure on it so hopefully it would stop bleeding. Then Patrick took some bandaged tape out from the far back of the cabinet and taking a few strips he stuck them over the stack of bandages.

He really did hope it'd stop the bleeding because he didn’t want to faint on stage from the blood loss. He really didn't need that.

“Because then everyone would know how weak you truly are,” the voices started up again when he had started to calm down a little. “And you don't want that now do you?”

Patrick pulled his pants up but this time more carefully so it would ruin the bandages he just put on. Since there was a lot after all.

Thankfully his pants were very dark so nobody could see the blood stain. And if someone did notice, he could just pass it off as a spill or something because the red wasn't that visible to make it seem like blood.

He didn't want to be caught. If he was caught it'd be the end of his career. The end of everything and Patrick just couldn't let it happen. Not today, not tomorrow, not in a billion motherfucking years.

Now there went his thoughts again, racing through his mind and making it difficult to focus on anything but his thoughts.

He wanted to cut again just so it would stop.

Well.. he actually wanted everything to stop too but too bad. He had to keep on living his shitty life for now because dropping dead would end badly. Especially in the middle of the tour.

The fan's reactions. He could just imagine it.

They'd be sad for a while, right? But then they'd realize the truth. The truth that Patrick Stump didn't deserve the spotlight. That his band mates did and then they'd be glad he was gone. So fucking glad.

Hell, Patrick wasn't even the good looking one! Unlike Pete, who was jaw dropping gorgeous and he was the reason they even had so many fans to begin with.

All of them were here for Pete...

Now it was really time to stop thinking for a while before it got too much.

“But Pete is so much better without you, everyone is.”

Patrick didn't need to be reminded. He already knew that. He figured that out a long time ago.

He sighed and scratched his head. He walked over to sit on his bed and stared down at the razors.

The blond opened the package very carefully and laid the blades down on the sheets. They looked perfect and smooth, unlike him.

Maybe they were even better than his last ones. Maybe they'd made beautiful deep cuts.

Well, Patrick was about to find out if they were better.

He pulled up his sleeve and stared at all the scars on his wrist. Some were old and some were knew, but regardless he remembered those times when he didn't cut as deep. It was only because he was scared of nicking a vein.

Ha what a fucking wimp he was back then, even if it was only a few months ago too. But Patrick had changed. Why be scared of death when that's all you wish for?

Patrick grabbed one of the razors and held his breath as he glided the sharp edge across his delicate wrist. The cut already bubbling up with blood.

His eyes staring at the blood and slowly he felt calmness wash over him.

So Patrick did it again and again and again. Sometimes he'd feel nothing at all, but other times he would feel the stinging in his wrist. But he didn't care.

He had been so preoccupied with harming himself though, he hadn't noticed that so many minutes had passed and he noticed blood had started to drop down into his lap.

Patrick pressed down harder this time on his skin. He slid the blade across his vein, but to him... it didn't seem like it was enough.

Yet.

The blond slashed all down his wrists. Reopening scars and making new ones. Seeing all the blood bubble up in so many different places made him feel ecstatic. His blood soaking all of his hand and wrist. But at this point, Patrick didn't care, he loved it. His whole arm stung but it was okay. He deserved it anyways.

He put the razor in his bloodied hand and he was going to do the same thing to his other arm, until he heard knocking on the door which startled him and cause him to drop the blade onto the bed.

Out of all the times someone just had to interrupt him. But then again, an hour had passed and Patrick wasn't even aware of it.

“Hey Patriiiick,” Patrick heard the unmistakable voice of Pete slurring the words from behind the door. “Why is the door locked? You should let me inn.”

He heard Pete hiccup after that.

Oh shit.

Patrick wasn't ready for this. He had to think and quickly. What the hell was he going to do?

He quickly stood up with the extra blades, being careful so they didn't slice his hand open. He took the blades into the bathroom and placed them on the edge of sink.

He turned the tap on and washed his hands and arm off first. Watching as the water turned pink.

The water made his wounds sting like hell though.

“Heyyyy, buddyyy. You okay? You alive in therrree?” Patrick heard on the other side of the hotel room.

He was so fucking thankful he had locked the door before hand.

But, he felt it kind of funny what Pete had said. Because he was barely alive. There was blood pouring out of his wrists, there were cuts on his arms and thighs and he was starving.

That wasn't being alive.

After he cleaned his arm he wrapped it in bandages and tried to keep his cool. He pulled his sleeves down and wiped his hands on his pants to dry them faster.

Patrick's heart was racing again. He could feel it pounding in his chest and pounding in his ear.

He didn't want to talk to anyone. Besides... Pete was going to have a nasty hangover during the show if he drank a lot.

But the blond was also frightened of a drunk Pete. Who knows what Pete would do if he let him in while drunk.

Patrick... had this feeling that the bassist had more romantic feelings towards him, and Patrick knew that he shouldn't anyways. Patrick was a fucking wreck. A huge. Fucking. Wreck. That no one should ever love. Even like for that matter.

Patrick walked out of the bathroom when he was (not) ready to face Pete. He closed the door behind him, the panic inside settling in real good as he unlocked the hotel room.

He began to shake as he placed a hand on the door knob. He had tried to relax. He really had.

Slowly he turned the knob and opened the door.

He murmured a quiet, “hey..” then moved aside to let Pete in.

“Were you sleepin' or something?” Pete slurred and stumbled a little as he came into the room with a goofy grin. He was wasted alright.

“Something like that, yeah. Just uhh... preparing for tomorrow,” Patrick replied, which was a big fat lie but did Pete really need to know that? Besides it sounded like the truth to Pete.

Pete sat down on the bed and just kept smiling at the nervous blond.

“What?” Patrick asked, giving him a weird look.

“Trickster, my man, c'mere,” He giggled and motioned for Patrick to come over. “I need to tell you something.”

Patrick tentatively moved over and sat down beside Pete.

In his head Patrick knew that anything Pete says from then on was probably bullshit and stuff he wouldn't say while sober. Or at least that's what he thought.

The Pete leaned in. His hot breath tickling Patrick's face.

He whispered slowly, those three dreaded words that Patrick didn't want to hear.

“I love you.”

Before Patrick could even protest, Pete kissed him and had his hands all over Patrick.

His mind was screaming at him to push the drunken Pete away, but his wouldn't let him.

Patrick couldn't even properly process what was going on until his hands were on Pete's hips and he was letting the bassist take control. He even let Pete slip his tongue into his mouth and... it honestly felt like fireworks were going off inside of Patrick.

But now, Pete was getting a little too forceful with him. He grabbed at the waistband of Patrick's jeans. When Patrick felt that he pulled his hands away.

He didn't... no he couldn't let his best friend see him. His scars and cuts. His skin that never felt right.

His disgusting, fat body, that he tears apart over and over again.

The blonds thoughts were preoccupying his mind once more. Even though Pete pretty much had his tongue down Patrick's throat at this point.

The make out session soon broke away and a wave of guilt washed over Patrick already.

They shouldn't have done that. He shouldn't have made out with Pete. He shouldn't have... but yet... he kind of liked it too.

“You were amazing, y'know?” Pete paused and started to draw circles with his finger on Patrick's chest. “I'd never thought....”

He wasn't even sure what to say to Pete. His mind scrambled for words but there wasn't anything at all that Patrick could think to say. All he could think of was how he hated himself even more because really. How could someone like the infamous Pete Wentz enjoy touching him like that?

“Pete,” he started to say and looked into his eyes. “I... think you should leave. You're drunk. I just... I don't want you to do anything else that you'll regret in the morning,” he mumbled but the moment it tumbled out of his mouth he regretted it and knew it was a mistake.

“Of course you'd fuck this up even more,” the voices mocked.

Pete looked at him with hurt written all over his face. He was really hurt by that comment. But he would probably forget all of this, so that was the only advantage to him being drunk off his ass.

But in this moment, Pete was absolutely devastated by this. He slowly got up, tears clouding his vision but he held them back.

“You really think I would regret something as incredible as that?” He whispered. He looked away. “What the fuck is wrong with you!? You're not even my best friend anymore!”

He whipped his eyes and headed to the door.

“That's not what I meant-!” But before Patrick could even finish, Pete slammed the door shut silencing anything he'd say.

Patrick wasn't going to chase after him and stir up some more shit.

He ruined everything he knew.

He ruined Pete and he knew it wasn't the first time.

 

Patrick ruined him. That's all he knew. That's another reason why Pete was a much better star than him. Pete didn't run around ruining people like he did.

Patrick shouldn't be a star. Not him, not ever.

The blond was only a monster. That's all he was. That's all he'd ever be. A monster.

He felt his chest grow heavy and his thoughts were getting worse.

He scrambled off the bed and into the bathroom to get his blades. He was probably never going to stop this cycle of self mutilation.

One day, Patrick hoped he would lose so much blood that he'll pass out or hopefully die.

No. Correction.

One day, Patrick was going to bleed out, in a bathtub filled with water and his own blood. His blood staining the bathtub red. That's what he deserved. That's all he deserved.

He deserved a painful death, and now that's the only thing that'd he think about for a while. It'd always be there in the back of his mind no matter what he did.

All he wanted to do was to die.

Everyone would be so much happier without him. It wasn't like they needed him.

“Or you could do it now,” the voices whispered.

They were right. He could just slit his vein now and watch himself bleed out.

Even though Patrick had many plans since all of this had started. His demise that would soon become a reality. Even though he wasn't too sure which plan he'd go with when it was finally time. He wanted it to be a surprise. Surprise to his friends, his family, his fans; everyone.

That way nobody could stop him too. The more people that know the better chances of his plan being foiled by noisy people thinking this is the best thing for him. But it wasn't. Patrick deserved to die.

He deserved to die and he would die. He had to. It was the only way.

But, for now, he wouldn't die. There would just be another round of cutting. This time he'd cut his other wrist and the razors and the voices were his only true friends. They had never left or disappointed him.  
He could always count on them when it came down to it.


End file.
